


Soup, Sex and Sun Salutations

by The_Girl_Almighty



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Music, Nudity, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Photographer Louis, Psychedellic Trip, Public Nudity, Recreational Drug Use, Sex while Under the Influence, Smut, magic mushrooms, may be triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 13:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Almighty/pseuds/The_Girl_Almighty
Summary: Harry Styles decides to go on a trip when he finds some unexpected alone time. During his afternoon Sun Salutations he meets Blue, who takes him to the stars.OrThe one where Harry trips on magic mushrooms, Louis is a photographer and Harry bites the tip of his tongue off.





	Soup, Sex and Sun Salutations

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER!!!
> 
> I DO NOT CONDONE DRUG USE. IT IS A CHOICE MADE BY AN INDIVIDUAL AND THIS STORY DOES NOT REFLECT MY BELIEFS OR THOSE OF THE PEOPLE DEPICTED. 
> 
> THIS STORY MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME READERS SO PLEASE PAY SPECIAL ATTENTION TO ALL TAGS. THIS STORY IS MEANT AS FICTION AND FOR ENTERTAINMENT AND NOT TO GLORIFY OR ROMANTICISE DRUG USE AND ITS ASSOCIATED PROBLEMS.
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy this story as a work of FICTION. I do not personally know what it is like to experience the events depicted, so please respect the fact that I tried my best to research it and do it justice.
> 
> All my love
> 
> Z xx

It's a quiet afternoon in Malibu, and for the first time in a very long time, Harry is alone. He has been working on his second studio album for a while now, in between an impressive line up of other events, performances and campaign shoots. He has been constantly surrounded by people for the better part of this year, never really finding much alone time - thanks in part to his new stalker friend who won't give him a moment's peace when he is in London, pushing him to have to hire a bodyguard for protection - so to find himself alone for a change is refreshing.

He stands in the small kitchen area of Shangri-La studios - which more closely resembles a small resort than a recording studio - swirling some dried, powdered mushrooms into his soup. That would have been the most ordinary sentence in the world to anyone else. Mushrooms and soup usually go hand-in-hand. Today, however, Harry is seeking more of a boost than a regular button mushroom possesses.

This isn't the first time that Harry has tried 'shrooms'. A potent mushroom possessing the hallucinogenic chemical psilocybin, also commonly known as 'magic mushrooms'. He has been using them to enhance his creativeness in terms of his album, but they've also proved useful in dealing with certain things he would usually have kept locked away, to remain forgotten and untouched. It has been an eye-opening and empowering experience, but today he just wants to feel. Feel and experience something more than the mundane.

Usually he does this in the company of his close friends, all of them taking turns at who will go on a trip and who will remain sober to supervise those of them under the influence, but Harry wants to be alone today. He knows it's probably not the wisest idea in terms of safety, but he wants to be alone. Alone with his mushroom soup, Joni Mitchell's, _ Blue, _on vinyl and his thoughts. He wants to feel free from the pressures of his life, his job and his obligations. He simply wants to be Harry. A 25 year old man, just trying to figure his shit out. Who enjoys 70's classics on vinyl, cardigans and corduroy. It's that simple.

It's past midday now, the sun high overhead, and as the opening beats of _ All I Want _crackle to life, Harry pads out onto the small patio, sitting on the top step and begins to quietly enjoy his alone time and his soup. He sips on it slowly straight from the bowl, because who has time for a spoon. He may also have a slight aversion to them thanks to his good friend Liam, but no one needs to know that.

He sits facing the ocean, continuing to sip at his soup as the time ticks slowly by him. As the mushrooms begin taking effect, he feels only slightly nauseous, the soup acting as a buffer against the initial onset of nausea experienced while climbing to the top of his high. He tries to breathe, tries to ignore the feelings coursing through his body, knowing that if he can make it past this initial discomfort, the end result will be more than worth it.

By the time _ Little Green _begins to play, Harry knows he has reached that place where colours become almost three dimensional, sounds are richer, crisper. Patterns and textures are seeming to come to life, dancing before his very eyes and beneath his fingertips. That place where he feels looser, more open. Free.

He gently lays down the empty soup bowl he's been cradling in his lap, watching the time pass him by and stands carefully. He removes his fluffy, oversized cardigan and his denim cap, before slowly moving down the steps to the small patch of manicured lawn before him. The sound of the waves crashing to the shore sounds like a heartbeat, slow and steady. The life force of the world. The one constant. It sometimes reminds Harry of star crossed lovers, especially when he is like this. Both craving the other, the push and pull of the world around them constantly trying to keep them apart. For them only to be close for a few cherished hours a day.

For how long he stands awkwardly at the foot of the steps, his toes curling and releasing in time with the crash of the waves, he doesn't know. Time is a distorted and unnecessary concept right now. Does he care if it was ten seconds or a solid hour? No, not particularly. Does he, however, care that he feels connected to the Earth in a way that can't be experienced in any other way? Does he care that he feels like he is experiencing something sacred, something that mere humans shouldn't be able to experience or understand? Yes. About those things, he does care.

Joni is singing, it seems, only to him. Her velvety, angelic voice flowing through his veins. His skin erupts in goosebumps as he lays down in the soft, sun-warmed grass, as though she has whispered the words softly in his ear. He runs his long, ring clad fingers through the blades of grass he can reach, turning his head to watch the way that they seem to fall back into perfect formation, almost as if in slow motion when he moves his hand away.

Each individual blade of grass appears to him in hyper realism. The way that each blade is different from the one next to it, and the one next to that, and the one next to that. They are all green, yet every blade is a slightly different shade, all adding up to the sprawling green horizon spread out beneath him in stunning clarity. They are all the same shape, give or take a broken tip here and a slightly torn middle there. Each possessing a series of small veins that run from top to bottom, slightly thinner in the very center allowing the smallest sliver of light to shine through.

He moves his eyes from each individual blade to the tops of them all, as they flow like a green sea to the white fence separating Harry from the beach. The afternoon sunlight filters between them like a heavenly light. It feels soft on Harry's face, like the gentle caress of a lover. It feels delicate, like fingertips tracing intricate patterns in his skin, or joining the dots with his freckles. Combined with soft piano tones drifting outside from the studio, and the voice that inspired a generation, it's like a chorus of Angels. If he didn't know any better - which to be fair he doesn't - he could swear this is what Heaven feels like. A concept he never used to believe in.

That was before he lost some of the most important people in his life. Before he prayed to a God he hoped was listening. Prayed that those people really did make their way to somewhere above. Somewhere without pain. Somewhere filled only with love and light. Like them. He smiles to himself, a full, face splitting grin. Tears springs to his eyes, tumbling down his cheeks, and it tickles causing him to laugh. If Heaven is half as amazing as what he is feeling right now, then he is glad that it exists. If not, God should get in touch with his people. He could give him a few pointers.

When his record player crackles and hisses, signaling the end, he closes his eyes. He watches as sparks of multicoloured lights dance behind his eyelids. A symphony of colours, the call of gulls, as well as the rustle of bushes and palm trees around him only enhancing the performance. When the lights and sounds begin to change, he opens his eyes to the sight of the sky exploding above him.

The sky has begun to change colour, almost absorbing them directly from the sun itself. Its ferocity, and its passion as it begins to make way for the love of its life. Its counterpart. The Moon.

As the sunset rapidly approaches, Harry hauls himself up from his grassy bed. He almost hates doing it because it is more comfortable than anything he has ever been in. A bed made of the very Earth. It made him feel even more connected somehow, be surrounded by the green blades, but he has to get up. He has plans. He dusts himself off, clambers up the stone steps once more, watching the sun slowly set until just the right moment.

"It's time," he whispers to the ocean, the sand, the Earth, the single bird flying overhead, everything around or maybe nothing in particular, before he takes off back down the steps again at a wobbly gallop, in the direction of the beach.

_______________________

Louis has been in Malibu for almost a week now, and so far he has been monumentally uninspired.

He has been saving up for this trip for months, every spare cent he could find being funneled away into a beaten up old tin on his dresser. It's hard work being a photographer, always trying to find new and different things to photograph. He had worn out all of the regular places near where he lives ages ago, so he decided that travelling to new and exciting places may be a good way to spice things up a bit.

So far, that wasn't going well for him at all.

He had decided on Malibu, hoping to capture something magical there. The rich and famous flocked here in numbers, so he figured there had to be something worth photographing. If not, he at the very least, deserved a holiday.

All he had seemed to photograph so far, however, were palm trees that could be any palm trees, anywhere. The pier, that wasn't exactly awe inspiring, and some regular people milling about the shops downtown in a wide angle shot he thought was nice.

So on the second to last night of his seemingly wasted trip, he had headed down to the beach to capture one of his favourite things in the world. The sunset. He wasn’t doing this for anyone but himself, and for the need to feel his camera heavy in his hands.

He'd been trudging up the beach for almost half an hour now, stopping every few minutes to snap pictures as the clouds changed from dusky pink, to terracotta orange and now a fiery red, the sun slowly descending behind the rippling waves on the horizon. Louis plays with the settings on his camera, tilting it in different directions. In some shots, the clouds stand out in stark relief, black silhouettes clouding the sunburnt sky. In others, light beams project into his field of vision, like the sun exploding in front of him. They are beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But he has thousands of these. He just wants something worth photographing. Something… extraordinary.

It is then that he sees it. A truly magnificent sight. The thing that has brought him here in the first place. The thing he had given up on finding. That something extraordinary.

A little way further up the beach, stands a man, holding his hands out at each side, his linen button up shirt billowing in the breeze. His chocolate, cropped curls flow around his face, framing it and accentuating his sharp jawline. Louis can't look away from the man standing before him in mustard coloured, corduroy bell bottoms. He is barefoot, the wind whirling around the hem of the tank top beneath his shirt, the hem lifting occasionally to reveal some kind of floral tattoos.

Now, that isn't all that extraordinary. Neither is the fact that he looks like he fell right out of 1970 and landed in present day Malibu. However, the fact that the mystery man begins to frantically remove his clothing, revealing an array of odd, seemingly nonsensical tattoos littering his tanned skin, and that in a matter of mere seconds he is standing completely naked, is.

Louis can't help but stop and stare, his camera hanging limply in his hand by his side. He hadn't realised he'd been slowly walking closer to the man, but the feeling of each new grain of sand between his toes tells him he is. He hopes that the man doesn't notice him, or the fact he is openly staring. He isn't being a pervert, he swears. Not that this man isn't the most handsome person he has ever laid eyes on, because he is, by a long shot. He just wants to photograph him. Clothed, naked, a little of both, Louis doesn't really care.

He wants to talk to this man and get to know him. He wants to learn about him, and how he became so comfortable in his own skin, that he is doing Sun Salutations naked on a beach. Louis realises that it is what he is doing when he begins to bend and stretch into organised, timed poses. He's been in Malibu long enough to know at least that much.

Louis has to sit down when the man begins to bend over at the waist, his sinful back muscles rippling beneath his tanned, tattooed skin as he does so. Louis is afraid that the man will notice him and stop, or that he will faint at the sight before him, so he makes himself comfortable in what he hopes is a natural position, tracing patterns in the sand with his free hand to try and distract himself.

The man’s calves are prominent in this position, his thighs muscular as if he works out, or at the very least, he does some kind of exercise to keep himself in shape. Louis can't keep the unprofessional, sexual thoughts, from swimming to the forefront of his mind whilst observing the man, and when he looks down at the sand beneath his hand, he finds a poorly executed replica of the man's silhouette.

Louis shakes his head, roughly wiping away the evidence of his unwanted and unprofessional desires, and when he looks up again, the man is lying almost flat on the sand, his hands supporting his upper body so that his back is arched inwards. He looks like some kind of 21st century Sun God, and before Louis realises what he has done, he is looking down at the screen on his camera at a perfect picture of the man, and the setting sun behind him.

Louis traces the outline of the man’s body with his finger, wishing that he could one day do it in person. To know what it would actually be like to be that close to him. To feel his skin beneath his fingertips, amongst other things. He knows he sounds like some creep, sitting in the sand on a mostly deserted beach, lusting after a total stranger, simply because he looks like a Greek God, and he's naked. The fact that he has a boner that he can't seem to talk down, has nothing to do with it. It's a natural response. He is only human, nothing a quick dip in the ocean won't fix.

"Blue, songs are like tattoos. You know I've been to sea before." Louis' head snaps up from the camera at light speed when he hears the deep, rumbling voice behind him. It sounds like molasses and thunder, but soft like silk. 

It’s then that he realises the man has disappeared from in front of him, and when he dares to look over his shoulder, he is met with mystery man's sand covered dick. Louis quickly whips his head back around, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his own dick becoming harder by the second. The man doesn't seem deterred in the slightest, and Louis feels it when he sits down in the sand next to him.

"Crown and anchor me, or let me sail away," the man continues, and Louis is seriously fucking confused.

"What?" Is all Louis can think to say, as he mentally tells his dick to calm the fuck down.

"Hey Blue," the man says, "I'm, Harry." When Louis looks up to meet his eyes, now that he has said something Louis understands - avoiding his pelvic region all costs - his breath hitches.

Harry - or that's what he claims his name to be - is even more stunning up close. His skin is an all over warm caramel, further proof that he spends a lot of his time naked, not a tan line in sight. His hair is a rich chocolate, the kind that only comes naturally, with the faintest hints of sunkissed highlights. His eyes are a wonderful sight to behold. They are a beautiful sea foam green, with hints of deep emerald and intertwining flecks of hazel and hawk-like yellow.

Louis doesn't think he has ever seen eyes as stunning as Harry's, his dark charcoal lashes framing them like an artwork that would be at home in the Louvre. He looks like he is wearing liner, which would just be sinful, but upon a slightly closer inspection, Louis discovers its merely the density of his eyelashes creating a shadow, and he can't help but let out a small whimper. He hopes that Harry didn't hear him, but if he did, he doesn't react to it in any way. He is still sitting exactly as he has been the entire time.

Louis' eyes rake further down Harry's face - Harry doesn't seem to mind, so Louis takes that as his green light to continue drinking him in - down the length of his nose. He notes that it appears ever so slightly crooked, as if he may have injured it at some point, or it is merely just an interesting feature that is just so… Harry. Next is the light peppering of stubble covering a prominent cupids bow that Louis can't take his eyes off of. Harry's stubble would appear strategic, if it wasn't for the fact that it looks like he's been trying to get it to that length since puberty.

Louis can't help but smirk. He's never had that problem, and he subconsciously runs his hand over his own slightly overgrown facial hair. Next are Harry's strawberry pink lips. They are full in a way that isn't over the top, but Louis can tell he'd fall into them if he kissed him. To round out the lot is a strong jaw that could cut glass and a chin to match, but by far Louis' favourite features are Harry's lopsided grin and his dimples.

Harry's dimples pull deep into his cheeks, slightly more so on the left side, which Louis finds idiotically attractive. It is when Harry giggles - _ giggles! - _that Louis realises he's been staring at him for far longer than is normal or necessary.

"Umm-- I'm sorry for staring," Louis stammers out, his eyes taking an avid interest in the grains of sand beside him instead.

"Its okay, Blue," Harry replies. His voice sounds far away, dreamlike, and Louis wants to sit and listen to him forever. "You can stare. I was staring, too."

"Oh, you were? Umm-- well…" Louis mumbles out, now feeling slightly embarrassed.

"You're so very, very pretty, Blue," Harry sing songs, his hand coming up to Louis' face.

Louis' initial reaction is to move away, but something inside him tells him to stay exactly where he is. He waits, and after a few heartbeats, Harry's fingers graze Louis' temple, before curving under his eye. Louis closes his eyes on instinct, fighting the urge to nuzzle his face into Harry's touch.

"So blue. Your eyes. They're so blue. Just like Joni said," Harry says when Louis opens his eyes again. "Blue like sapphires, like the sky on a summer's day. No. I've got it. You have ocean eyes. Ocean blue eyes, Blue. Just like Joni said."

A few questions fly through Louis' head after this. The most important being will Harry let Louis photograph him.

"Harry. Can I ask you a few questions?" Louis asks, wanting to answer some of his burning questions before he goes any further - whatever that may entail - with Harry. To be fair, he is already naked and he knows his name, so he's doing better than every one night stand he's ever had. That's a start.

"Ask away," Harry replies instantly, his hand coming down to Louis' knee where he traces patterns on his skin. Louis finds that he doesn't mind that this relative stranger is touching him. He isn't hurting him or being overly sexual, so he leaves him be and begins to ask his questions.

"Harry, love. Are you on something?" Louis tries to be diplomatic without being patronizing. The last thing he needs is Harry losing his shit.

"Oh yes!" Harry exclaims, his whole face lighting up at this. "Psilocybin mushrooms."

"Shrooms!" Louis shouts, completely taken aback by both Harry's answer and his honesty. He really did fall out of 1970.

"Shrooms, magic my shoes, whichever you prefer. Makes no difference to me. The trip remains the same regardless."

"Magic my shoes? Don't you mean magic mushrooms?" Louis asks, almost choking on his laughter.

"That's what I said, Blue. Pay attention."

Louis outright laughs at this, and to his' amazement, so does Harry. He is rolling in the sand now, with tears clouding his eyes like Louis just told him he funniest joke on Earth. If nothing else, hanging out with Harry isn't going to be boring.

"Okay, next question," Louis begins trying to engage Harry back in the conversation, and he snaps out of his fit of laughter like flicking a switch. Louis’ brain doesn't know how to process a trip sober. He hasn't done shrooms since he was in highschool, let alone been the sober companion.

"Who is Joni?" Harry gives him a look that makes Louis feel as though he should already know the answer to this. Like he has offended him, almost.

"Joni is an Angel. A voice so angelic and pure. I could show you, and you could photograph me. That is yours isn't it?" Harry says, pointing to Louis' camera.

"You want me to photograph you?" Louis is taken aback by this turn of events. He was going to ask Harry, but after finding out he wasn't sober he didn't want to appear like he was taking advantage of him.

"Yes. I saw you looking at me. And you took a picture. Is it pretty?" Louis' mouth hangs open at being openly outed, but brings up the picture on his camera and shows it to Harry.

"Wonderful!" Harry responds, clapping his hands, and Louis feels like he’s talking to the Mad Hatter. "Come on, Blue. We shall photograph and philosophize. Come!" Harry is yelling, standing abruptly, sand flying in every direction as he does so.

"Wait, where are we going? And why do you keep calling me, Blue?" Harry is pulling Louis up out of the sand by his armpits as he speaks, as though he weighs nothing.

"I told you. To Shangri-La. To photograph and philosophize. You really need to pay attention, Blue."

Louis suddenly hears his mother’s voice in his head, telling him not to go off to God knows where with this handsome, tripped out stranger. But he never did listen to his mother, and with his camera in hand, he allows Harry to drag him up the beach. He doesn't know where they are going, or what is going to happen when they get there, but there is one thing he does know for certain. So long as he is with Harry, he is safe.

_____________________

When Harry told Louis he was taking him to Shangri-La, Louis thought he'd mean some dodgy Asian takeaway shop, or that Harry had been rambling nonsense thanks to his mushroom trip. What Louis hadn't expected, however, was for Harry to take Louis to _ the _Shangri-La.

Shangri-La Studios to be exact.

It was more of a hidden resort nestled between stately beachfront homes on the Malibu seafront, but that didn't make it any less impressive. It was large and open, banks of windows allowing natural light to flow into the makeshift recording area and Louis could instantly see the appeal of artists wanting to create and record their music here.

It was at this point when Harry had almost floated across the floor to a large record player, moving the needle back to the precise point he desired, that it hit Louis.

Harry must be a recording artist.

Or at least affiliated with big time music production somehow. Not any old Tom, Dick or Harry - well, in this case Harry was an exception - could have access to this place. He had money, connections and was a singer or musician of some description. When Harry asked him to join him on the floor, in the middle of the room, he didn't question it.

They lay so that the top of Harry's head is gently touching the top of Louis', their arms and legs splayed out around them, not unlike the position required to make a snow angel. Louis found it odd that he was so willing to go along with all of Harry's trip-induced requests. He could have taken a seat on one of the many chairs and stools littered around the room, and let Harry do his own thing. Yethe hadn't. Instead he'd simply gone along with anything Harry had said or asked, including but not limited to, photographing him naked in the studio gardens, in all manner of seductive poses.

Louis had somehow, to his credit, managed to keep his dick at bay and give Harry the full measure of his professionalism, capturing him amongst nature as the sky grew slowly darker behind them, almost as if a black void had swallowed them whole. When it had become too dark to take any good photographs with natural lighting, they had headed back inside, and that is how they now found themselves staring at the ceiling, none of them speaking, with the soft, folky sounds of a woman singing floating around them.

Louis tunes out the rolling sway of the ocean, the hum of crickets and other nightlife buzzing outside, the way that Harry's breath sounds too loud even over all of that, and tunes in fully to the words the woman is singing to him.

_ ...Call her green and the winters cannot fade her _  
_ Call her green for the children who've made her _ _  
_Little green, be a gypsy dancer

Louis closes his eyes, and lets the voice wash over him. He smiles to himself, because he feels as though this song could have been written about Harry.

_ He went to California _  
_ Hearing that everything's warmer there _  
_ So you write him a letter and say "Her eyes are blue" _  
_ He sends you a poem and she's lost to you _ _  
_Little green he's a non-conformer

_ Just a little green _  
_ Like the color when the spring is born _  
_ There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow _  
_ Just a little green _  
_ Like the nights when the Northern lights perform _  
_ There'll be icicles and birthday clothes _ _  
_And sometimes there'll be sorrow

Yes. This song most definitely could have been written about Harry. His eyes remind Louis of the colours at the birth of spring. He is a non-conformer, floating majestically and enchantingly like the Northern Lights. Louis is drawn to him, mesmerized by him.

The next song is about someone named Carey, and Louis isn't as drawn to this song as he was the last. When this song comes to a close and the next begins he listens intently again. It's the type of song that demands your full attention. That you listen to carefully and take heed of.

_ Blue songs are like tattoos _  
_ You know I've been to sea before _  
_ Crown and anchor me _  
_ Or let me sail away _ _  
_Hey Blue

Louis' eyes open wide when he realizes these are the words Harry spoke to him earlier. The nonsensical ramblings. Or, at least that's what he thought it was. Now though, he realises they were the words to an incredibly beautiful, almost sad song. Also who Joni is. He realises that he knew it two songs ago, but somehow it only just clicked that this must be who Harry had been referring to.

_ Here is a song for you _  
_ Ink on a pin _  
_ Underneath the skin _  
_ An empty space to fill in _  
_ Well there're so many sinking now _  
_ You've got to keep thinking _  
_ You can make it thru these waves _  
_ Acid, booze, and ass _  
_ Needles, guns, and grass _  
_ Lots of laughs lots of laughs _  
_ Everybody's saying that hell's the hippest way to go _  
_ Well I don't think so _  
_ But I'm gonna take a look around it though _ _  
_Blue I love you

_ Blue here is a shell for you _  
_ Inside you'll hear a sigh _  
_ A foggy lullaby _ _  
_There is your song from me

"I told you, Blue. A song just for you. Just like Joni said," Harry whispers in the moments of faint crackling between tracks.

He gets up slowly, then moves to the record player and puts it back to the start of the song. He dials down the volume though, almost to the point that you could argue that there isn't music playing at all, but you can swear you hear something. He picks up Louis' camera on the way back, but instead of resuming his original position next to Louis, he straddles his hips and holds out the camera for him to take.

Louis doesn't question Harry about why he is straddling him naked. He doesn't tell him to get up, or try to move out from under him. He doesn't feel the need to. He simply takes the camera from Harry and begins to photograph all of his favourite features.

"So," Louis begins, focusing the camera on the part of Harry's torso where his shoulder meets his chest, his black tattoos creating fascinating patterns on his skin. "You're a musician then?" Louis figures he may as well try to get to know Harry a little bit. He will probably never see him again after tonight, but that doesn't mean he wants to ever forget him.

Harry is far too special to forget.

Some may argue the point. Bullshit along the lines of 'You don't know what he is really like', 'You met him during a psychedelic trip', yadda, yadda, yadda. Louis just knows. He can't tell you why Harry is a precious gift to the world, or how he came to know that after a few hours, all he knows is that he is.

Harry just is.

"I'm a singer. Songwriter. Actor. Model. I dabble with instruments. So yeah. I guess you could say I'm a musician," Harry says. He says each word slowly. Deliberately. Louis isn't sure if this is normal for Harry, or a by product of shrooms, but he loves it.

"Wow. That's impressive."

"Ah. But have you ever been hit in the nuts with a dodgeball by the former first lady?"

"Wait. You got hit in the nuts by Hilary Clinton?"

“No, Silly. The other one,” Harry giggles. Louis has to think about it before the answer dawns on him.

“Michelle Obama?” He asks, and Harry nods solemnly.

"I did. It was one of the most painful, yet prestigious moments of my short existence. More importantly, how do you not know who I am? And who doesn't watch The Late Late Show? James will be heartbroken to know you aren't a fan of his show. He's paranoid he is going to have it taken away from him. Something about bad ratings. It's all nonsense, of course."

Harry runs his long, ring-clad fingers through Louis' hair as he speaks. It seems to take a lifetime for him to say what he needs to, but Louis doesn't mind. His voice is calming, and oddly addictive and Louis kind of wishes he would just read him the phone book or something. They could make up pretend lives for all the people listed within its pages. It could be fun.

"I don't really watch TV, and I'm so far out of the loop in terms of new music, I couldn't even begin to tell you who sings what these days. Sorry." Louis shrugs, hoping he hasn't offended Harry in any way and vows to track down Harry's music the first opportunity he gets.

"Don't apologize, Blue. It's nice. I like it. I like that you don't know who I am. I don't have to pretend with you."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'm glad. I'm glad that you don't have to pretend. It must be tiring. Having to be a certain way all the time. Not ever really being, your self."

Harry is still touching Louis as he speaks. Playing with his hair, running his fingers over his freckles, over what can be seen of the words tattooed on his collarbones. It makes Louis shiver, but he tries to keep his breathing even. Louis wants to put the camera down that is now full of breathtaking images of Harry. Everything from full length shots, to close up shots of his tattoos and eyelashes.

Louis doesn't have the excuse of being high. He knows what he is doing, and any boundaries he may cross if he does, so he keeps his hands flat on the floor when he isn't taking pictures of Harry, and allows Harry to touch him instead. If Harry was trying to stick his tongue down Louis' throat, or grab his dick through his shorts, he'd probably put a stop to it. It's not like that though. It's more like wonderment. Joy. Inquisitiveness. An innocent exploration.

"What made you decide to do a trip alone?" Is Louis' next question. He hopes he isn't overstepping. It just seems a little risky to him. Trips don't always go well, and can last for hours. That's why it's always best to have someone watching out for you.

"I wanted to be alone. I'm never alone. Never alone. I've also found it helps greatly with creativity. Although album titles still remain the most frustrating thing known to mankind." Louis' heart sinks at this. Harry wanted to be alone, and yet here Louis is, interrupting that.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I can leave. It's getting late anyway--"

Louis is cut off by Harry placing a finger against his lips, silencing him.

"If I didn't want you to be here, you wouldn't be. Joni sent you to me. The Fates. The Universe. Divine intervention. Sheer dumb luck. However our paths ended up crossing. I'm glad they did."

"I'm glad too. You saved my almost wasted trip to Malibu."

Harry laughs at this, and motions for Louis to give him his hands. Louis does as asked. It's kind of becoming their schtick at this point. Louis swallows down the lump of nerves taking up residence in his throat, and takes a deep breath before placing his hands in Harry's.

Harry's hands are soft and warm, just like Louis knew they would be. Harry pulls Louis forwards by his hands, and Louis goes willingly, sitting up with Harry still in his laps until their chests and noses are almost touching.

Harry has been naked the entire time that Louis has known him, yet he is so free and comfortable in his nakedness, he makes you almost forget he isn't wearing any clothes. Besides the obvious. Somehow, though, this is more intimate. Something has shifted. Like a sharp abrupt wind, or an unexpected storm. Something momentous, yet unexpected.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis then, supporting him at the bottom of his spine, and Louis feels small and fragile. Harry's splayed hands feel as though they take up the entirety of Louis' back, and he can’t stop his heartbeat from thumping wildly behind his ribcage, before more goosebumps erupt on his skin as Harry's breath dances over his face.

Harry leans in further, and just when Louis thinks he may kiss him he stops, their lips almost touching, and Harry speaks. The words fluttering over Louis' parted lips like the dark wings of Harry’s butterfly tattoo that Louis has photographed in every light and angle.

"Blue. Can I kiss you?"

________________

Harry can hear each staccato breath Blue takes, the way beads of sweat begins to form on his skin like morning dew. He watches as his eyelids flutter closed, bordering on slow motion, before they burst open again at his words, Harry's field of vision exploding with high resolution pops of cobalt and cerulean.

"Blue…" Harry tries again, when no answer or action is given to his question.

He realises that the waves of tension rolling off of Blue may not have been of a sexual nature at all. That he may have it all wrong. Maybe it was merely nerves. Harry is a lot to deal with under normal circumstances, he knows this, let alone during a psychedelic trip. Maybe it was wariness that something may go amiss. That he would become violent, angry or aggressive at a moments notice.

But when Blue's lips crash against his own, like the unrelenting ocean crashing against an unmoving cliff face, it is the very definition of ecstasy. Harry doesn't know any other way to describe the colours that appear to be exploding around him like the fireworks that welcome in the new year, or the way that all sounds around him feel both muted and amplified. He can't begin to explain the way that Blue tastes like sunbeams, stardust and something altogether sinful. He didn't even know sunbeams and stardust had a taste, but if they did, they'd surely taste this magnificent.

Harry finds the hem of Blue's black tank top, his brain trying to focus on something that doesn't look like it belongs in some distant undiscovered world. He tries to focus on lifting Blue's shirt up over his head, but the moment their lips part, all of the surrealness seems to fade into oblivion, the studio swimming back into focus.

Harry honestly has a new found appreciation for the talents of people like Salvador Dali and Lewis Carroll. It's no wonder that people were so attracted to their work. It's extremely difficult to think outside the box, but with a little help from magic mushrooms, it's hard to be any other way.

"Fuck…" Harry breathes out because he doesn't know any other way to describe what he is seeing and feeling right now. He feels terrible that Blue isn't getting to experience this the way he is, but he hopes one day he will.

"Kiss me. Fuck, Harry, kiss me," Blue says, and it's like a command. Harry couldn't deny him this even if he wanted to, and so he does.

He kisses Blue again, and once more colours, sounds and textures meld and distort into an otherworldly utopia with Blue as its blinding life force. Harry has never experienced a trip like this, not even remotely close. He knows he measured out exactly two grams of mushrooms, just like he always does, but he could swear he had taken a Goldy dose if he didn't know any better.

When Blue's hands begin to travel down the length of Harry's spine, from where they have been nestled in his hair, it feels as though every nerve ending in his body is exploding beneath his skin. It's like a finely tuned, high precision routine. Each exploding with an intensity that would rival a sonic boom at precisely the right moment.

Harry's skin feels like it has been set alight, tingling in a way he's never felt before each time Blue's breath floats across the fine hairs he knows are there. Harry doesn't know what is going to happen here in these next few moments. At this rate, he is going to come from Blue's touch alone, but he hopes he can find it within himself to ride it out. To see this through to its full potential.

When Blue moves his mouth down Harry's neck, sucking hard in a spot between his jaw and ear, Harry can feel the dark pool of desire unfurl in his gut. It twists itself in knots, but consumes his insides like a landslide, devastating everything in its path. Harry decides to take matters into his own hands at this point. This is all happening far too quickly, far too intensely. He needs a distraction. A way to pull himself back into focus, at least until Blue has reached the same level of arousal Harry has.

Well, the sober equivalent anyway.

He pushes Blue backwards, catching his head with his hands as he lands on the rug below them, the patterns seeming to come to life before Harry's eyes. He can see each individual strand, how they intertwine together to create the stunning masterpiece below him, like time itself. Woven together to create history and the future. One strand unravelling could change its very existence. The rug is time. When he looks back at Blue, his breath is all but knocked out of him.

He's smiling up at Harry, his eyelids hooded and heavy, his chest rising and falling in a way that's almost hypnotizing. Harry can't look away. Can't make his eyes leave Blue's. They're so blue. Full of life, laughter and promises. Full of secrets, mystery and a ferocity known only by those who can drown in them, that Harry almost finds disturbing. He almost wants to drown.

Almost.

When he feels Blue's hard length nudging at his stomach in anticipation, he snaps out of his trance like state and remembers what he had intended to do. He kisses his way down Blue's chest, stopping to flick each nipple with his tongue, Blue's throaty breaths creating a backing track better than any vinyl Harry could play on his record player. It puts even Joni to shame.

When he reaches the button on Blue's shorts he pauses before popping it open, looking up at Blue, who nods his head frantically in confirmation of Harry's silent request.

Harry makes quick work of relieving him of his shorts and underwear, a deep growl flowing out of him at the sight of Blue's throbbing cock. It's like a thunder clap, and Harry isn't sure he's ever made a sound quite like it.

Harry takes Blue's cock in his hand, and it feels like silk. It’s soft, smooth and warm, and Harry wants to taste it. He takes it in his mouth, and the only thing that comes close to describing what it feels like is pop rocks candy. As if the taste is exploding on his tongue, the sounds echoing in his brain. Idiotic, he knows. But he can't help what the mushrooms make him feel.

He swirls his tongue around the leaking tip, gaining his first taste of Blue's come, and it's like drinking from the fountain of youth. Perhaps now, he will live forever. Or maybe it’s closer to how Eve felt when she first tasted the forbidden fruit, knowing it’s better simply because it is forbidden.

He continues to suck and stroke him, watching and listening to the way his body reacts to what he is doing. He knows he is pushing him close to that point of no return. Where he won’t be able to keep it at bay, no matter how hard he tries. His suspicions are confirmed when Blue roughly grabs hold of his hair, yanking his cock free from Harry's mouth. Harry already misses the explosions on his tongue.

"Stop. I'm gonna come," he pants. Harry feels proud of himself. Blue looks as blissful and as fucked out as Harry feels, and he's glad that he could make him feel that way.

"Will you take me to Heaven?" Harry asks. He hopes Blue understands what he means by that. He hopes that he can be the one to take him there, to give him this experience. Blue looks confused for a second, and disappointment floods Harry’s system. Perhaps Blue doesn’t know what he means.

"You want me to fuck you?" Blue asks eyebrows still furrowed in thought, and yes. That's exactly what he wants. Relief floods him. Blue understood.

"Yes. I do. I want to feel you inside of me. I want you to push me over the edge into the abyss. I want to free fall in a sea of colours, textures and emotions that only you can create. Please, Blue."

"You can say all that, but you can't come up with a decent album title?" Blue asks, laughter clouding his tone, and all Harry can do is kiss the smirk from his face.

Blue, with surprising strength, rolls them so that Harry is laying splayed out beneath him. He shimmies down Harry's body causing shock waves as he goes, until his shoulders are resting level with Harry's knees. Harry isn't sure what to expect next, but Blue hoisting his legs up onto his shoulders, pushing so that his entrance is exposed to him, cock laying hard and heavy against his stomach, certainly wasn't it.

"Is this okay?" Blue asks, and Harry's heart hammers oddly in his chest. He can’t quite describe the feeling flooding his system, but he doesn't want it to stop.

"Yes! Fuck, Blue. Please…"

"Shhh, baby. I've got you," Blue replies, and before Harry can begin to process the name that just fell from Blue's lips, or how that makes him feel, Blue's mouth is on his most intimate area.

Blue presses kisses to his hole, swirling his tongue around Harry's tight ring of muscle, and he has stopped trying to decipher colours, sounds and feelings. They are too loud, too bright, all consuming. Like being set alight and plunged into icy waters all at the same time.

This only serves to add intensity to the noises Blue is making, almost as if he is enjoying this as much as Harry is. Harry tries to grip into the rug to stop the feeling of floating away. It doesn't help. He can't find purchase, but he did ask Blue to take him to Heaven. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes they'd gone for an outdated old shag pile instead.

In lieu of the rug to hold on to, he finds a tuft of Blue's caramel brown hair instead, and the result is not disappointing. This seems to spur him on further, soft kisses and calculated licks becoming frantic, yet more purposeful. He can feel Blue's spit running down between his cheeks, almost scorching a path that can never be erased.

And Harry doesn't want it to.

He never wants this day, or these moments to fade from his memory. He prays that they will be preserved in perfect technicolor, so that he may revisit them on days when he isn't quite sure why he is doing this job.

Before long Blue is using his fingers to open Harry up, to prepare him for his cock and the experience of a lifetime. They feel strong and sure, and Harry's body is responding to him in a way he never knew his body could. His limbs do not want to cooperate with him, only with Blue’s tongue, almost as if the other man is speaking some language only his body understands.

"More!" Harry calls out. To Blue? Maybe. To his body? Possibly. To the universe? Probably.

It's Blue who answers his call, though. Spitting between the two fingers already holding him open, before slowly adding a third alongside them. He begins to move his fingers in and out of Harry like the melody of a song. It seems familiar, like a song his heart already knows, but he can't remember the words to.

Harry soon feels like he is nearing the point of no return, and if the weird jerking motion he has been feeling for the last few minutes - it could have been an hour, time isn't a concept Harry understands right now - so is Blue.

Blue stops abruptly, and Harry lays panting, feeling empty and oddly cold. It doesn't last long though, he doesn't have time to process what is going on, before Blue his pulling him up off the floor.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks when Blue begins to walk towards the patio doors.

"To the stars."

Blue kisses Harry softly on the cheek, and Harry knows in his heart he'd follow this man anywhere. He doesn't know his name, where he lives or anything at all about him. But his heart knows, and that's good enough for Harry.

Blue sits down on the bottom step of the patio and motions for Harry to straddle him again. When Harry is comfortable, he wiggles his toes in the grass beneath his feet, once more feeling connected to the Earth around him.

Blue kisses him gently now, no hurry to his actions, before he moves and whispers softly in Harry's ear.

"Look up."

When Harry does he gasps. It’s Heaven. Without warning, tears spring to his eyes. He doesn't feel in the least bit sad or upset, only thankful. Thankful that he met this amazing man, who sees something special in him, and is giving him something special in return. Harry worries that he may never see Blue again after tonight. It will be a shame to see him go, but he has given Harry a night he will never forget. A special moment that will forever connect them, and that will always be enough.

Miraculously Harry is still aroused through all of this, more so in fact than he was before. Blue doesn't show any signs of slowing down either, and Harry knows it's time.

"Are you ready? Are you ready to fall amongst the stars? To float in an endless sea of bliss and ecstasy. To reach Heaven. Will you let me take you there?"

Harry knows he is looking at Blue with a stunned expression, and Blue has the hide to smirk at him, like he knows exactly what he is doing.

"Yes…" Harry breathes because what else do you say to that? Maybe he should let Blue choose his new album title.

Blue taps Harry's thigh, and he lifts up slightly so that he can position himself. Harry takes one last deep breath, but how does one really prepare oneself for the unknown? He looks deep into the deep sapphire eyes that look so forgein to him, but feel like home, and nods his head once.

Blue brings his lips down to meet Harry's, kissing him gently, licking along the seam of Harry's lips requesting entrance as he slowly, gently, almost lovingly, eases himself into Harry's waiting heat.

Harry moans, deep in the pit of his chest, and Blue swallows it down in a kiss before it can escape into the world around them. They may be outside, but Harry gets the feeling this moment will only ever be for them. Never to be repeated or shared with anyone else. He somehow knows Blue will do the same, and in his line of work, and for the sanctity of this moment, Harry is thankful.

Blue begins to intensify their kiss, gripping firmly onto Harry's hips like a vice, planting his feet and beginning to move Harry up and down on his hard cock at a punishing pace. Harry hopes Blue's fingers leave bruises where they are holding him, another momento for Harry to solidify this night in his memory until they fade.

Harry breaks away from the kiss, looking up at the stars, wishing he could be them. Isn’t he already among them? Isn’t he just stardust? He can feel the familiar pull behind his navel, he is getting close, and by Blue's erratic movements and constant string of profanities, Harry can safely say he is too.

"Fuck, Harry. So close," Blue pants out between thrusts, and Harry knows that's his cue.

"Float to the stars with me."

Without warning, Blue hits Harry with one final thrust, straight to his prostate. Harry comes with a shout, Blue following right behind him, and it feels like Harry is falling.

Starbursts dance before his eyes, his body feels like he is not floating but submerged in water that so happens to be the same colour as Blue’s eyes. He is drowning, but instead of fighting it, he chooses to breathe it in. He is breathing water, and wouldn’t have it any other way. Doesn't try to resurface and swim away from the intensity of the feelings he is experiencing. If this is what drowning feels like, then he will gladly do it every single moment of the day.

One is more overpowering than the others though, almost painful. He tastes something oddly metallic in his mouth, and when Blue starts shaking him, screaming his name, he knows something is wrong.

____________________

"Harry! Harry, open your eyes! Harry, look at me! Stop singing and look at me!" Louis screams, shaking Harry and hoping he will look at him and not have an adverse reaction and freak out.

Harry stops singing, thank fuck, and opens his eyes slowly, like he is waking from a dream.

"Whas wong?" Harry gurgles, and Louis tries to calm himself and break the news to him as gently as he can. The last thing Louis needs is for him to have a meltdown. He'd never be able to explain this to the paramedics.

"Umm-- now don't freak out okay? Harry. Your mouth is full of blood."

Louis watches as Harry slowly brings his hand up to his mouth, removing it after a few seconds only to find blood staining his fingers. He looks down and notices the trail of blood, mingling with the come that is beginning to dry on his chest, and he _ laughs _.

Harry. Fucking. _ Laughs _.

Louis can't believe what he is seeing. Harry is laughing hysterically, blood pouring from his mouth and down his chin, dripping onto his chest. The crimson color is a stark contrast to his tan skin in the dull moonlight, but can barely be seen over the dark outlines of his tattoos. Louis needs to get him inside and get him cleaned up. He can't have Harry walking about like an extra from the Walking Dead.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go inside and get you cleaned up, yeah? See if we can work out where all that blood is coming from."

After awkwardly extracting himself from Harry, and navigating him back inside - which was a lot like helping a drunk octopus find its car keys - Louis manages to find a small bathroom and a first aid kit. It seems like the blood is coming from Harry’s mouth, but he has no idea why. He tries not to be alarmed, but it is difficult, and for some reason, Louis feels guilty as he sits Harry down on the toilet handing him a wad of gauze from the kit to put in his mouth to stop the bleeding. At least he hopes that will work.

He quickly cleans himself up, finds his clothes, and when he is feeling more like himself, he begins to carefully clean the dried blood and come from Harry's body. He can’t seem to find where Harry is keeping the rest of his clothes, and it’s then he realises he returned from the beach naked. It’s not long before he is able to rustle up a blanket that he drapes around Harry's shoulders, and he kneels down in front of him to inspect whatever damage he has done to himself.

"Open your mouth for me, Harry. Let me take a look," Louis says, and Harry does as he is asked. Guessing by the way that Harry seems to be the total opposite of the Energizer bunny he was earlier, Louis knows his high is starting to wear off. He needs to do this quickly, and find somewhere for Harry to sleep it off before he crashes.

The bleeding has stopped, thankfully, and after close inspection, Louis discovers the source of all the blood.

"Harry, you've bitten the tip of your tongue off! Must have been one hell of an orgasm. So glad that wasn't my dick."

Harry doesn't say anything, he just wiggles his tongue like a little kid and laughs. That's good enough for Louis. Harry seems to still be in good spirits, but now, time for sleep.

When Harry is tucked in on a soft leather sofa under the window, snoring softly as the sun begins to peek out over the horizon, Louis says his goodbyes.

"Goodbye, Harry. Thank you for a night I will never forget."

He bends down and kisses Harry's curls gently then, and he could swear Harry smiles in his sleep. When he reaches the patio doors that lead out to the garden and down to the beach, he stops, turning to get one last glimpse of something extraordinary.

_______________

The buzzer on the gate to Shangri-La sounds, and Harry bounds over to the intercom to answer it.

"Hello, can I help you?"

_ I have a package for Harry? No last name. Care of this address. _

"I'll be right down," Harry replies, and he thinks that is a little odd but goes to the gate to investigate.

It's a small cardboard box with no weight to it and the delivery driver assures him that it contains nothing of a nefarious nature, so he takes it back inside to open it.

He sits on the bottom step of the patio and opens the box, wiggling his toes in the grass beneath them, and inside is a photograph and a clear plastic bag containing his wallet.

He had lost it over a week ago, and had given up any hope of ever finding it. He takes it out of the bag, and everything is still inside it, exactly as it had been, $400 cash included. That seems a little odd to Harry, that not a single thing is out of place, so he picks up the photograph to inspect it further.

It's a photograph, he soon realizes, of himself doing Sun Salutations naked on the beach and he instantly knows who the sender is. He also realises that there are at least one hundred other pictures of him out there in all his naked glory, but quite frankly that doesn't faze him in the slightest. He knows that they will never see the light of day. That they will remain tucked away in a secret place for the eyes of only one person; a shared moment between them that he can one day look back on. 

His face breaks out in a grin, and tears cloud his vision. He wasn't sure that night had even been real, or that Blue had been real either, but his heart feels full knowing it hadn't all been a very realistic hallucination.

Something tells him to turn the picture over, and when he does it reads;

_ Dear Little Green, _

_ You really should be more careful with your belongings. Anyone could have picked this up, you know. Aren't you lucky it was me that found it? _

_ I'm so glad I got to see you one last time before I left Malibu, even if it was only your hideous drivers licence photo. _

_I hope you are well and the album is coming along nicely. Can't wait to hear it! _

_ If nothing else, we will always have that night and Joni Mitchell. _

_ Forever yours _

_ Blue x _

_ P.S. You should call it Mushrooms and Blood._

**Fin.**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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